A festival story. The characters are imagined; the clothes are real.
Day 1, 4:12 p.m. Cabin 6, "Heron."
My therapist said journal, so I'm journaling. I'm billing it to myself in six-minute increments.
I arrived at the lake in a navy blazer and loafers, dressed for a deposition with a mountain. Everyone else is barefoot. A woman in harem pants hugged me at check-in for a full count of eight. I counted.
Field notes:
- There is one bar of signal on the property: the third log of the woodpile, facing east.
- The schedule is called "the flow." I asked Marisol, our facilitator, for a printed copy. She smiled like I was a golden retriever with a shoe.
- Sunday ends with a sunrise session on the lawn above the dock. Barefoot. No phones. No talking. Dancing.
I don't dance. My last dance was a box step at a cousin's wedding in 2014, under supervision.
My suitcase is heavier than the one I packed. My niece Lena, nineteen, helped.
Something velvet just brushed my hand.
✦
Day 1, 11:30 p.m.
A hoodie, dark violet, nearly black. Down the front climbs a column of seven glowing circles, red at the base through the rainbow to violet, up to a pharaoh's face ringed in gold glyphs. A sticky note on the hood: Seven circles. Start at the bottom. —L
I put it back in the suitcase. I'm a litigator.
At nine they lit the fire, and a DJ played psychill so slow it seemed to breathe, a warm pulse like a paddle dipping, again and again, into still water. People swayed on blankets. I sat on a stump at the edge and took minutes.
Across the fire, the sound healer, Oren, ran a mallet around a crystal bowl until the note was in the logs, in my back teeth. He caught me writing "8:52, bowl" in the margin and laughed into his sleeve.
At 10:40 the cold rolled off the ridge and found every seam in my blazer. I put Lena's hoodie on underneath, where nobody would see.
Tomorrow is the first ecstatic dance. Marisol calls attendance "an invitation." I've read a lot of contracts. I know an obligation in a nice font when I see one.
✦
Day 2, 7:05 a.m.
Frost on the canoes, every dock board furred white, the lake steaming like a mug on a cold windowsill. The larches across the water turned gold one by one.
I haven't watched a sunrise since spring. Last month my smartwatch congratulated me for standing fourteen hours in a single day. Three nights a week I fall asleep with my phone face-down on my chest, a paperweight holding me to the bed.
Day 2, 4:48 p.m.
Ecstatic dance, in the lodge. Shoes in cubbies, phones in a basket. Marisol explained "the wave": slow, building, a peak, then stillness. No talking. Move however your body asks.
My body asked to stand by the window, near the fire extinguisher.
For forty minutes I watched a retired dentist do something with his arms I can only describe as weather. A woman my mother's age spun until her braid came loose. I kept waiting for someone to grade the room. No one did.
At the peak, the bass came up through the boards into my heels, and my left hip moved. Once. One sway, entirely involuntary, and I'd like the record to reflect that.
Oren, dancing like water poured slowly, saw it. He nodded once, the way you nod at someone who finally says the true thing in a meeting.
Afterward, on the third log, my phone filled like a basement in spring.
✦
Day 2, 9:15 p.m.
Forty-one emails. One matters. Greg moved the Halvorsen closing call to Sunday, 7:00 a.m. our time. "You're the only one who knows this deal cold," he wrote. It's true, and kind, and it's the sentence that has kept me at my desk past midnight since I was twenty-six.
Sunrise on Sunday is at 7:02.
The call can only happen on the third log. The sunrise session happens on the lawn. Between them: a hundred yards of frosted grass and seventeen years of knowing the deal cold.
I replied "Of course." I always reply "Of course."
Then I traced the hoodie's column with one finger, red to violet, up to the pharaoh.
I can't tell if it's watching me or waiting.
✦
Day 3, 6:30 a.m.
Dawn yoga, woodstove ticking. Marisol walked us up the chakras like a seven-item agenda. Root, red, at the base of the spine. Sacral, orange. Solar plexus, yellow. Heart, green. Throat, blue. Third eye and crown, up into violet.
I knew every color before she said it. I've been sleeping in the cheat sheet.
Then Oren's sound bath, one bowl note low enough to feel in the floor. Somewhere inside it I was nine, in tube socks on my mother's yellow linoleum, sliding the length of the kitchen to the Saturday radio while she laughed at the stove. At twelve, somebody told me serious girls sit still. The only time I broke the rule was teaching four-year-old Lena that slide.
I opened my eyes and the lodge ceiling was swimming.
At lunch I went digging in the suitcase lining for a charger and found the rest of what Lena packed.
✦
Day 3, 10:52 p.m.
A cloak, rolled tight in a vacuum bag, the same seven circles climbing its back to the same pharaoh. A second note: For the cold morning. All the way up this time. —L
Tonight I recorded a voice memo at the end of the dock, in the cloak. Transcribed, because everything goes in writing.
"Hi, Danny. It's you. You're forty-three. You have a corner office, which mostly means more windows to look out of at 11 p.m. Listen. Somebody's going to tell you serious girls sit still, and you'll believe it, because you're so good at believing sentences. Keep the socks. Keep the kitchen. I'm coming back for you Sunday at 7:02, and I'm bringing the radio."
It took four tries. On the fourth, my voice went on the word "socks," and I let it.
Two alarms are set: 6:40 for the woodpile, 6:41 for the lawn.
I can only answer one.
✦
Day 4, 6:47 a.m. The third log.
Headlamp. Ink slow with cold. One bar. The call starts in thirteen minutes.
Below me the lawn is silver and the lake is breathing white. People drift down in blankets and leave their shoes in a crooked line at the edge of the grass. The DJ has started a low, rolling progressive psy bassline, like a train heard from far away, getting closer.
Ben has worked this file beside me since August. He knows it cold. I've just never said so.
I typed: Ben, you lead the call. You know it better than anyone. I'm unreachable until nine.
Three dots. Then: !!!
I'm zipping the phone inside the cloak. A hundred yards.
I'm stepping off the log.
✦
Day 4, 9:40 a.m. The dock.
I left my loafers at the end of the crooked line. The first step onto the frost crunched like biting a snowball. By the third step I'd forgotten I had feet.
I found a spot near the back. The bassline rolled under everything, and the sky ran the circles backward: violet, then blue, then a seam of red along the ridge, then gold.
At 7:02 the sun cleared the ridge and hit the lake, and the lake threw it back up at us, and my left hip moved, and this time the rest of me went with it.
I can't tell you what I looked like. I know the cloak swung wide every time I turned, and the velvet at my wrists caught the first light like a struck match. I know I was laughing without a sound, bare feet wet and steaming. The woman with the braid spun past and touched my shoulder. The dentist made weather. Nobody graded anything.
When the wave came down into stillness, I was standing with my arms open, face tipped up to the sun.
Oren found me on the dock afterward with two cups of tea. He looked at my back, then at me.
"Root to crown," he said.
He has my number now. The personal one.
Ben's text came in at 7:51: Closed.
✦
Day 4, 11:51 p.m. My kitchen.
Socks on, hood up, radio loud, Lena laughing on the counter: no further questions.
Lena's suitcase, unpacked
Dana is imagined; what Lena packed is real. Magus Fawn's Mystical Egypt design is a map of the climb: seven glowing chakra circles rising from red at the base through orange, yellow, green and blue to violet, up to a pharaoh's face under a winged disk, wrapped in gold and violet glyph-mandalas and sacred geometry on a dark violet and black field. (The rainbow color code is a modern Western layer on much older Indian tantric teachings.) The Mystical Egypt crushed velvet pullover hoodie ($100) is the one worn under a blazer at the fire, and the Mystical Egypt women's festival cloak ($250) is the one that swung wide at 7:02.
- Crushed velvet pullover hoodie: crushed velvet, 95% polyester / 5% spandex, listed fabric weight 240 g/m² · drawstring hood · kangaroo pocket · long sleeves · regular fit, S–2XL.
- Women's festival cloak: micro-mink outer · ultra-soft microfiber fleece lining in black or white faux fur · listed fabric weight 200 g/m² · double front zipper · heavy drawstrings · four pockets (two interior stash pockets, one zippered, plus two deep side pockets) · unisex fit, XS–5XL.
More visionary art clothing for the cold-morning climb: women's cloaks · men's cloaks · crushed velvet · cotton hoodies · kimonos.
What do you wear to ecstatic dance when it's cold?
For ecstatic dance on a cold morning, wear soft layers you can move in and peel off: leggings or loose pants, a breathable top, a velvet or cotton hoodie, and a warm hooded festival cloak for the walk in and the stillness at the end. Dance barefoot, and keep socks and shoes at the edge of the floor.
- The ecstatic dance dress code is about freedom, not fashion. Barefoot, phones away, no talking on the floor. Ecstatic dance clothes should stretch, breathe and stay quiet: nothing that jangles, nothing you have to hold up.
- Yoga festival outfits double as dance wear. Leggings, harem pants and kimonos carry you from the mat to the dance floor; add a hoodie for the sound bath, when the body cools fast.
- Psytrance clothing loves sacred geometry. At a retreat with a psy soundtrack (psychill around the night fire, progressive psy at the sunrise set), mandala, fractal and chakra prints fit the room the way all-black fits a techno club.
- Frosty lakeside mornings run cold underfoot. Frost on the lawn and mist off the water make the first half hour the coldest. Arrive wrapped, dance in, and keep your cloak within arm's reach for the stillness and the sharing circle.
If you want the real thing on your calendar: Bhakti Fest has brought kirtan and all-day yoga to California in September, historically at Joshua Tree Retreat Center, where late-September nights sit in the 60s °F; Wanderlust now runs mostly one-day Wanderlust 108 events, with Santiago on the 2026 list for November; and Ecstatic Dance Gathering France ran at Domaine du Balbuzard in Auvergne on July 23–26, 2026.
Frequently asked questions
What is the ecstatic dance dress code?
Ecstatic dance has no formal dress code, but the shared customs are clear: dance barefoot, leave your phone outside, skip talking on the floor, and wear loose, soft clothing you can move in freely. Leggings, harem pants, kimonos and cotton or velvet hoodies are common, with a warm layer close by for the cool-down and sharing circle.
What should I pack for a yoga retreat?
Pack soft, stretchy clothes for yoga and dance, a warm layer for early sessions and sound baths, and slip-on shoes you can leave at the door. Mountain and lakeside retreats run cold at dawn, so bring wool socks, a hoodie and a hooded cloak or coat. Add a journal, a water bottle and a reusable mug.
What size cloak should I get?
Magus Fawn festival cloaks come in a unisex fit from XS to 5XL. If you'll layer the cloak over a hoodie on cold mornings, our FAQ suggests sizing up, sometimes even two sizes up. Every cloak is made to order and all sales are final, so email your measurements to art@magusfawn.com if you're between sizes.
Written by Magus & Lylyth Fawn, the Los Angeles artists behind Magus Fawn. Magus makes VR and digital visionary art and produces Psy EDM. Lylyth makes fractal digital art and runs design and customer care. We've been selling wearable art since 2020 on Etsy (4.7★ from 144 reviews as of October 2026) and here at magusfawn.com. Come say hi on Instagram @magusfawn.
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